


running from my shadow

by godslayer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Found Family, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Multi, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, idk but assume its got all my normal BS, no Guardians of the Galaxy, no Thor: The Dark World (sorry lol), none of that thanos business here thanks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:21:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29968377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godslayer/pseuds/godslayer
Summary: "what if there is light beyond the dark?"A man spectacularly out of time, a slightly brainwashed ex-assassin with a sweet tooth and an illegitimate heiress with the world on her shoulders.Ruination was all but guaranteed.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	running from my shadow

**Author's Note:**

> yes i will put trigger warnings in and i really need to edit this but it's only my boy bucky's birthday for 44 more minutes and a bitch has adhd so errr enjoy i might burn this later x

The people of New York fizzed around the tower in the early morning sunrise. The city had exploded since Steve had been under the ice. 

Ever since the defrosting, sleeping had been difficult. If it wasn’t the light, it was the sound, and if it wasn’t the sound of the city beneath him, it was something that felt even more trivial, like the way the sheets felt against the bare skin of his arms. 

Egyptian cotton, Tony had said. 

Softest thing in the world, he’d said. 

It was impossibly soft. Too goddamn fucking soft. 

Steve understood why, in the six months since Bucky had just appeared on the doorstep of Avenger’s Tower, that he’d taken to sleeping on the sofa with the scratchiest blanket known to mankind. 

Asking Jarvis to lift the blinds completely in his room, Steve quickly grabbed a fresh shirt from his dresser. Tony had offered to buy him whatever he wanted and had seemed a little surprised when he’d settled for cheap five-packs of cotton t-shirts instead of the designer brands he seemed to favour. 

As the skyline opened up in front of him, Steve took a moment. He was awake now. Nothing would change that. 

The city was still recovering from the Chitauri attack. Exoskeletons of scaffolding remained on a few of the still unfinished projects. New York had been nothing short of a fucking disaster, but the sudden crop up of building jobs had placated a few. 

A boost to the job market, they’d put it. 

At least someone was finding a positive to literal fucking aliens invading New York. 

The rest had spent their time arguing - mostly on the radio, as that was all he cared to listen to - that things like Norse gods had no business playing with the affairs of mortals. Many refused to believe it had even happened in the first place - this was all some sort of PR stunt from the government. 

But Steve didn’t have the energy for that. 

Not after DC. 

He padded out, into his lounge to find Bucky already awake, hovering beside the rumbling coffee machine in the kitchenette. 

Steve had had Nat help him order it online, knowing that trying to get Bucky out and to a department store would be worse than trying to draw blood from a rock. Tony had financed the whole thing, but it cost so little he probably hadn’t even realised the money was missing. 

Bucky had, however, ordered every single flavour of the little pods that went in the machine at ridiculous o’clock shortly after it had arrived.

And now at four thirty in the morning, he had opted for a vanilla latte. 

“You want one?” Bucky mumbled, his voice hoarse from sleep. 

“Yeah, please.” 

The amount of caffeine in the pods would barely scrape the top off the exhaustion they both felt. 

Bucky busied himself with the machine again, the muscles of his back working overtime with tension. 

“Here.” 

Steve picked up the mug and nodded towards the elevator. 

“You sure you wanna do this?” 

Bucky sighed, some of the tension wilting away. 

“Nobody’s gonna force you to do this, Buck.” Steve knew, realistically, that Bucky knew this. But verbalising it at least offered him an out. 

“It’s ok.” Bucky replied, his steaming mug firmly grasped in his metal hand, the other calling for the elevator. 

The two climbed in and were on the floor below in seconds. 

“So,” Tony began, clasping his hands dramatically. “I bet you’re wondering why I’ve gathered you here today.” 

“It’s four thirty-two in the fucking morning, man,” Sam muttered as Bucky and Steve joined him on one of the couches, “Get on with it.” 

“Alright, alright,” Tony grumbled, “No-one here appreciates the art of theater these days.” 

Steve heard Wanda sigh loudly. Tony shot her a glance before continuing. 

“Fury sent this over,” he continued, pressing a button on a tiny remote. “At least I think it was Fury, but considering I made the e-mail specifically for him, no-one else would send something to [ tonyisthebest@stark.com ](mailto:tonyisthebest@stark.com). Not to mention something like this.”

Steve had met Senator Hayes several times since the defrosting and witnessed firsthand the former Marine’s talent of enrapturing a crowd, especially when speaking of the utility of the Avengers Initiative. 

He had also seen many things during his time on the front lines, before the ice. The memories bubbled to the surface whilst he slept, mixing with the reminders of what had happened in New York. 

But nothing prepared him for this. 

Senator Hayes’ neck, now bearing a gash deep enough that it had nearly decapitated him, was clearly the main source of the fountain of blood that showered the room. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Clint whispered. Tony quickly flicked to another picture of Hayes’ hands, palms down on the arm of the chair, his left impaled with a fork and the right with some sort of fighting knife. On the plate in front of him was something pink and bloodied. 

“And I doubt a Hydra goon would send it to us,” Tony continued, flicking through more pictures at a breakneck speed, settling on a crudely-done likeness of their emblem on the floral wallpaper. “But whoever did this has definitely got a flair for the dramatics, what with the tongue and everything.” 

“Are we sure it’s them?” Steve heard himself ask. 

“Well, they definitely had something against Hayes,” Tony remarked, pulling up a different set of images. A boy with the slightest hint of stubble had been completely decapitated. Steve appreciated the speed at which Tony moved through the pictures. “This was four years ago, in Mali. He was a known Hydra operative, considering the tat.”

“And they’re definitely related?” Bucky asked, echoing Steve’s doubt. Surely they had bigger fish to fry than a Senator? 

“Well, this helps put two and two together.”

Another image flicked onto the TV screen. It was a close-up of a creamy piece of card, measured against a ruler like the crime procedurals Sam binged. 

In carefully-measured garnet loops read: _For Mali._

“That’s been tested, by the way. Not _actual_ blood. Just theatrics.” Tony paused. “Anyways, someone in SHIELD picked up the kid’s body. According to the autopsy reports, it seems HYDRA hasn't stopped trying to make the perfect soldier.” He continued, his eyes settling on the screen as he drifted into thought. 

“Where the hell did they get a kid from though,” Sam asked, sipping his coffee. 

“Best guess, off the streets.” Tony remarked, “As we all know, Natasha’s been underground for a while. She didn’t want to say anything, but I suspect it was something about this.” He gestured to the screen with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Anyways, the e-mail referenced my little fundraiser in a few weeks. Hope you’re all ready to suit up.”

* * *

Tony, or rather, Pepper, had done an incredible job in turning the lobby of Avengers Tower into a suitable enough space for a charity gala. 

Steve surveyed the room, his attention flitting between the attendees and the cameras in the ceiling. The list of things he would’ve done to not be stuffed in this suit, surrounded by businessmen with more money than they had sense, was getting longer by the minute. 

“Anyone suspicious down there?” Sam’s voice said in his ear. 

“Negative,” Clint replied, his voice partially muffled from the distance between his mic and his mouth. 

Clint had easily drawn the short straw - breaking into an office building over the street to watch Tony’s rich acquaintances as they queued outside - but Steve couldn’t help but wish he was doing something a little less exhausting than pretending to schmooze. Even if it was just watching people. 

Meanwhile, Tony was in his element. Steve had found it impressive that Tony could switch between the charming businessman and the genius inventor when he needed. It was something he’d yet to develop - as much as Tony said it came with time, in the few events he’d been dragged to as Captain America, it was getting more and more exhausting. 

“Three incoming,” Clint said quickly, sounding as though he had a mouthful of crisps. 

Steve recognised Nikolai Mikailovich Volkov and his wife, Tatiana, from the binders full of invitees he’d scoured through over the last two weeks. Keep away from Oscorp and Moroz Industries, but otherwise well-liked and had pockets deeper than the Pacific. 

The Volkov family had made their fortunes in oil and ‘power sources’, but never specified what exactly they had meant by the latter. Nikolai Volkov was a portly man, in his late fifties with a head of thinning salt-and-pepper hair. 

“Nikolai!” Tony’s voice boomed through the hum-drum of the gathered socialites. 

“Tony! I don’t believe you’ve met my wife,” Nikolai said, his voice buttery smooth as he presented the woman on his arm. 

It was true, they hadn’t officially met, but Tony had been privy to the hours of research the others had put in and had Friday boil down the most important parts. Two years ago, Volkov’s proposal had prompted her to announce her retirement from a prolific career as a model, where her sky-blue eyes had graced the front of magazines like Vogue and Tatler. 

Steve couldn’t help but be slightly appalled at the swaddling lilac that engulfed her form. Surely a woman who had worked in fashion would’ve put a little more thought into her dress?

“Or my daughter, Alina.” 

To his credit, Tony barely reacted at the sudden introduction of none other than a Volkov heir. Someone on the other end of the earpiece Steve was wearing, was decidedly less composed. 

“Oh, I didn’t realise you had a daughter!” Tony remarked, gently releasing Tatiana’s hand. 

Nikolai’s smile tensed as he pulled his daughter out from behind his wife. She approached with a gliding step, placing her hand in Tony’s outstretched one. 

“Neither did he,” The younger woman said with a biting half-smile. Her rich British accent caught Steve entirely off-guard, his entire form perking up against his will. 

“Oh, she’s definitely got your spirit, Niko!” Tony remarked, struggling to hold back his laughter.

Steve watched carefully as a pink flush appeared on the apples of Alina’s cheeks. Behind her, her father produced a small gift bag, from which Tony extracted a small wooden box, his eyes lighting up at it.

To Steve, their words were nothing but white noise as he tracked Alina’s approach to the buffet table, heading directly for the sweets. 

“Steve-” Bucky’s voice said in his ear as her eyes turned onto him. 

“Oh!” She yelped, dropping the china plate in her hands. Steve immediately lunged forward, intervening before it could hit the floor. 

“Sorry,” she squeaked, “Father didn’t tell me to expect _Captain America_.” 

Steve was accustomed to the reverence in her tone, but the way her eyes flickered up and down his form was something else entirely. A chuckle he didn’t quite recognise escaped his throat as he offered her the plate back. 

“I wasn’t expecting to be here either, frankly.” 

“Thank you. Just how did you end up here then?” She asked, a careful smile spreading across her face as she took the plate back.

“Ah, I lost a bet,” Steve said quickly, praying she wouldn’t poke at his alibi too hard. The truth probably wouldn’t sit right with a spoiled heiress. 

“A bet that includes a gourmet buffet?” She remarked, a perfectly arched eyebrow raising in disbelief.

“Could’ve been worse, I suppose,” he muttered, shrugging. 

“I’m just poking fun,” she said, her half-smile returning. He could see the curves of a dimple forming in her cheek. “I’ve heard all sorts of stories about these things from friends.” 

“You have many friends who attend these sorts of things?” 

Immediately, Steve wanted to punch himself in the face. 

Of course she did - the daughter of someone as rich as Volkov would know people who had to attend these things. She’d probably get married to one of the rich businessmen in attendance tonight.

“Yeah, you know, charity events, galas, afterparties. Those sorts of things,” she turned, her glossy hair grazing her bare shoulders. “Apparently I didn’t escape them myself.” 

She turned back, the light in her eyes extinguished momentarily. “At least the food’s good though.”

Steve chuckled. “There is that.” 

She glanced up, her eyes meeting his and offering a shy smile. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to dance?” 

He paused, mouth opening to decline on account of the fact he was here for work, but she spoke again before he could. 

“I don’t mean now, I just mean, like, at all. My friends won’t believe I met you, that’s all. Don’t feel pressured into -” Her face was reddening by the second and he with every syllable he could feel himself getting more and more embarrassed. 

What was it Sam and Nat had kept on pestering him about? He ‘had to get back out there’? Surely this was one way of doing it, even better if it was guaranteed to hit a wall because she was just an heiress. 

And at the very least, Sam would vouch for him when Natasha came back. 

“- I’d like that.” 

Steve felt something bloom in his chest when she smiled at him again before they could both hear Tatiana Volkov’s voice from across the ballroom. 

“Alina, darling, do come and meet the Humphreys!” 

“I guess I’ll have to cash that in later,” she remarked, placing a tiny vanilla macaroon on her plate before returning the tongs to the table. “I better go and socialise.” 

She disappeared as gracefully as she had appeared, turning her back to Steve to reunite with the woman he guessed was her step-mother. Something about Alina had stoked the embers of a feeling he hadn’t felt since before plunging into the Arctic. 

And despite his better judgement, his eyes raked down the exposed skin from her backless dress until they settled on a short but grotesque looking scar. 

Sam and Bucky’s argument was nothing but background noise as he tried to keep his jaw off the floor. 

“Quit starin, man,” Sam’s voice said, anchoring him back to the moment. “You’re getting drool on your shoes.” 

“Oh stop it,” he muttered, hoping she didn’t see him talking to himself. “Who was that?” 

“That was one Albina Nikolaevna Volkova,” Sam replied, a slight chuckle in his tone. “What a name. Attended St Adrian’s in Kent from age 7 until 18. Second in her class, went on to study… International Relations at Columbia. Graduated a year and a half early and has been volunteering in Honduras for the last year.” 

“And now she’s winning over the one and only Captain America?” Clint remarked. 

“Sure seems that way, Barton--” 

“-Anything else?” Steve asked, biting into a tiny version of a cupcake in an attempt to not tell Sam to shut up.

“Her mom died back in 2000, Alina was six. Car accident. Weird this didn’t turn up on any of our searches.” A pause as Sam and Bucky smacked at each other for control of the keyboard. “That’s all we can find. Locked social media and a feature in St Adrian’s alumni column.” 

Bucky chuckled, “A dance won’t hurt, Steve.” 

And that was all it took. 

“Later,” Steve reprimanded, “You two are keeping an eye on everything for me.” 

“Heads, some kid’s causing commotion,” Clint said, his voice deathly serious all of a sudden. 

“Where?” The teasing tone whipped out of Sam’s voice. 

“Front entrance, camera B for you,” Clint replied. 

“Steve, you ok to check it out?” 

Steve nodded, crossing the room with carefully measured poise. Enough to let people know he wasn’t to be stopped but that was no danger. 

At least, he hoped there was no danger. 

He was through the entrance to the ballroom and past the front desk in mere seconds, where the two security guards were holding a struggling teenaged boy back. He didn’t look much older than fifteen, although he did seem particularly scrawny. 

“Please, I need to talk to Mr Stark!” 

“It’s ok,” Steve said, more to the boy than to the security guards. 

There was no way in hell this kid was a legitimate threat. 

“Oh my God!” The boy whispered, going slack in the bodyguard’s hold. 

Ever since SHIELD had been forced to retreat into the woodwork, Steve had been laying low. Granted, there was laying low and then there was mooching off of Tony’s infinite bank account, but Steve had appreciated the offer. They hadn’t always been on good terms, and while it wasn’t exactly like they were going to see eye-to-eye on everything, experiencing Tony on a daily basis had at least reinforced the idea that Tony really was just like _that_. 

However, now this kid had seen him, and unlike the ballroom of people who knew discretion when it counted, he wasn’t sure if he could trust that this kid would stay quiet. 

“Darrell, Ken. Don’t worry, I’ll take it from here.” 

Darrell handed him the hood of the boy’s sweater, which he took to direct the kid towards the nearest elevator. 

“Jarvis, take us to floor thirty-seven and contact Happy.” 

“Of course, Captain.” 

Jarvis had been a weird thing to adjust to. Then again, nearly everything had been a weird adjustment. 

“Happy is on his way, Captain Rogers.”

The boy was surprisingly easy to manhandle into their makeshift interrogation room, but Steve put that down to the fact this kid looked like how he used to pre-serum. 

Was Hydra really above using a scrawny kid to infiltrate one of Stark’s events? 

He doubted it. 

The elevator doors slid open, allowing Happy to barrel out. 

“You said we got a kid?” He wheezed, desperately smoothing down his suit jacket. 

“Yeah, he’s in board room five right now.” 

“Ok, I’ll get facial ID on him and see what we can learn. His bag’s been scanned so I’m just going to search it now.” 

“Thanks Happy. Sam and Buck are in Ops if you need a hand.” 

Happy nodded before wandering in the direction of a computer, completely lost in his own thoughts. 

Steve brushed down his velvet jacket and returned to the lobby of Avengers Tower. 

“Go get her,” Sam’s voice said in his ear. “She’s looking mighty bored over on table thirteen.” 

Steve could hear Bucky’s snort of laughter in the background. 

“Alright,” he muttered at them, approaching table thirteen. Alina sat, hands carefully folded in her lap, listening to one of the Oscorp entourage talk about something that was probably more Bruce’s area of expertise than his. 

“Ah, Alina,” he said, gently placing a hand on the back of her chair, watching as her attention turned to him and her tense smile ignited into an untamed grin. “I was wondering if I could cash in that dance now?” 

For a brief moment, Steve worried he was about to be rejected. Sure, she had asked, but there were plenty of other people - better suitors - for her here. 

His anxiety was quickly extinguished as she reached up to take his hand. He exhaled as he took it, before carefully planting a kiss on her knuckles.

“Jesus, get a room. You’re practically undressing each other!” He could hear Sam remark as he brought her to the dance floor. A few hushed whispers between Sam and Bucky filled his ears and the two dissolved into giggles as the music changed from some sort of upbeat pop song to a much slower love song. 

He made a brief note to give them shit for it later. 

All things considered, he couldn’t help but enjoy the way Alina folded into him so neatly, the crown of her head tucking perfectly under his chin. He brought his hand around to her back, mirroring the way she had one on his. Only his hand met the bare skin of her back, cool underneath his touch. 

“You good?” He heard Bucky whisper through the comms. Too loud and it would give it all away. 

In his arms, Alina hummed with approval. 

“You alright?” She whispered, barely able to break through the reverie she seemed to be in. 

“Huh?” 

“Your heart’s going kinda fast,” she remarked, her ear nestled against his collarbone. 

“Sorry,” he whispered back, “it’s been a while.” 

He could feel the smile that crossed her face and even if he couldn’t see it, imagining it would tide him over. 

“That’s quite alright,” she replied. 

The two swayed in near silence until Steve finally found the courage to ask. 

“Your father didn’t know he had you?” 

Alina chuckled dryly. “Grandma paid for me to be sent abroad. Dad only found out I was his when I turned eighteen.”

“Ah,” Steve whispered. While they had been moving, he hadn’t noticed his fingertips had moved of their own volition, tracing the scar on the small of her back. 

“Shit, sorry,” he whispered, feeling the embarrassment burn him up. “I didn’t --”

She leant back slightly so they could look into each other’s eyes, a cheeky grin on her face. “Captain America swears? Scandalous.” 

He couldn’t tell whether the blush was because of her teasing tone or because of his wandering fingertips. The dance moved them carefully into the line of a spotlight, bathing Alina in light. The slightest dusting of freckles covered the bridge of her nose and the tops of her exposed shoulders. Her eyes flashed amber as she twirled into a line of light, the mischievous glint never fading.

As the song finished and she carefully dipped the tiniest curtsy, Steve knew he’d never hear the end of it. It was one thing to just not date, blame it on not understanding the times or something, but it was another to finally break that streak with an heiress to one of the richest men in the world. 

She opened her mouth to say something, but the stout figure of her father appeared as if teleporting and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

“ _Roza_ ,” he began, his signet ring sparkling in the spotlight. 

Alina turned - almost too quickly - back to her father, exposing her bare back to Steve. The softness that he had felt with his own fingertips had vanished, replaced with taut muscles. 

“ _Da?_ ” 

Steve’s knowledge of Russian wasn’t on-par with Bucky or Nat, but the former would probably be able to translate if push came to shove. 

Alina nodded along with whatever her father was saying, Steve watched as the tension gradually dropped out of her shoulders. They finished their hushed conversation. 

A softness returned to her shoulders as she turned back to Steve. 

“Thank you,” she began, “For the dance. I had a lovely time. I’ll make sure Father sends a cheque for those Sokovians.” 

“Thank you. It was a pleasure,” he replied, feeling his cheeks heat up under her intense gaze. 

Despite her father behind her, Alina surged forward and planted a soft kiss on Steve’s cheek before joining her father. 

“What was that?!” Sam remarked in his ear. “Dude we were freaking out up here!” 

“Thanks,” Steve replied, deadpan, “So glad you’re both enjoying this.” 

Bucky snickered. 

“What do you suppose we do with the kid Happy’s babysitting?” Clint asked. 

“Fuck.” 


End file.
